


Everywhere a Judas as Far as You Can See

by katertotter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 14:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katertotter/pseuds/katertotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Draco turns seventeen, there is a battle. There is a battle that is a war and it belongs to Harry Potter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everywhere a Judas as Far as You Can See

**Author's Note:**

> This is ancient. Probably around early 2005.

I. China White

When Draco is nine, his father takes him to Vienna. There is a man named Tom there, and Draco is to stay with him for three months. Draco will be a different child soon. Lucius already know this.

Tom wears expensive robes, trimmed in vines, and the occasional Muggle suit. The suits are always black, with a blood red rose affixed to the lapel. His hair is always neat, and he is very polite, and he often writes poetry on the windowsill in the back parlour. The actual windowsill, that is, his finger pulling swirls through a layer of dust with ease and practised grace. The words almost seem to float up from the wood into the afternoon sunlight, and Draco is delighted.

He was, of course, confused by this activity the first week, but he found it intriguing, nonetheless. As time passes, he begins to look up to him, and he thinks he may like to become a man like Tom someday. Silent, and respected, and so revered by the servants, that they do not even make eye contact when they speak. Draco wonders sometimes if they have ever even seen him.

Tom's house is large and white and silent, and Draco tries his hardest to not breath too heavily. It is very cold in Vienna now, and mother has packed his warmest cloaks, but the magic that hangs along the air inside the library seems to curl along the bottom hem of his grey, wool cloak and slide along his small legs as he watches Tom read aloud from a large book. Draco wonders if it is warmer outside in the garden. Surely this cold can't reach out there.

The house seems to shimmer from the outside, Draco notes one day at the birth of Spring, while sitting in the gardens. It was as if it couldn't decide whether it was really there at all, so it flickered in and out of existence.

He is under a bending oak now, and he's reading a small leather bound copy of Huck Finn he found in the library. He was surprised that Tom would have a Muggle book, and he'd looked over his shoulder, expecting to be scolded for even touching it, but Tom smiled and told him he should take a bit alone to read it. He told Draco he had been rather fond of it when he was a child. Father would never approve, Draco had thought, but Father is not here, so he takes it past the kitchens and into the yard and he plops down on the cool grass that is more and more warming as the afternoon drags past. Just as Huck is drifting up the river, discovering freedom, Draco stops and rereads the passage:

"The pitifullest thing out is a mob; that's what an army is--a mob; they don't fight with courage that's born in them, but with courage that's borrowed from their mass, and from their officers. But a mob without any man at the head of it is beneath pitifulness," Tom quotes softly from above him, his hands pressed inside the pockets of his suit coat that looks like it saw the height of fashion in 1923. "Every army needs a sound leader, don't you agree, Draco?"

Draco swallows. He isn't sure what to say, but he wants to answer properly. "Yes, sir. A clever leader, who is strong of mind, and will, and magic, and whose family is ancient and most proud. At least, that's what Father says."

Tom laughs lightly and leans against the tree, taking a black cigarette from his pocket and snapping an old, silver lighter to ignite it. "Yes, he would say that, wouldn't he? Do you think all leaders should come from old families, old money, old lines, or do you think younger blood will out in the end? Just out of sheer curiosity into the insight of a young mind."

"Hm. I'm not sure, sir. I think greatness can come from nothing."

They ate in silence on Tom's finest china. Its edges were rimmed in silver and maroon, and upon their faces vines twined and shone in the afternoon sunlight. On a Tuesday, Draco spilled a raspberry glaze across his plate on accident, and the vines began to twist and lift from his plate. Tom ran a hand above its surface, whispering in an unknown language, and they flattened against the plate again. Draco smiled up at him, thankfully, but Tom's face was filled with coldness.

"Never trust your surroundings, Draco," he said. "Things are never what they seem."

Things continued to move in that house that never should, and those that should seemed made of smoke.

By the time he left, Draco wondered in his child's mind if Tom himself were real or an illusion. Draco had been too afraid to pass a hand against him for fear it would go through. And so, Draco asked his father about it on the train home and Lucius had assured him Tom was real. He just wasn't sure where.

Draco didn't understand, but soon he would.

 

II. Sand

When Draco turns seventeen, there is a battle. There is a battle that is a war and it belongs to Harry Potter.

It's taking place on the beaches of Normandy, an odd re-enactment of the Muggle's last major war that Draco doesn't particularly understand. He knows little of Muggles still, apart from what Harry has explained to him of what Tom has become, and what Tom was, what this would mean to him.

Tom stands at the edge of the water. His robe is thick and black, and the vines around his collar are dancing like they had on Draco's plate years before. Tom looks different nowadays: older, cleverer, and much, much more terrifying. He smiles at Draco in the same cold way he'd always had, only now he looks sad and smug at the same time, and Draco shivers in the sand.

Harry Potter stands beside him and his father stands in front, across the line he stands upon, the line he will not would not cross. There is a boat behind Lucius, drifting just off shore, and its sails are blowing cotton and blue, but there aren't any sails there, really. The boat isn't even touching the water.

"Now is the time, Draco. You must make your choice."

Lucius' words are hollow and bitter and completely resigned to the answer he already expects, and yet they are wholly filled with fear at the mere thought of them. He looks to the water's edge, to Tom, and Draco understands now that Tom is real and not. He understands fully that Tom is not Tom any more. He was empty then, poetry swirling, but now the hollow has slithered smoke into something more than human and much more terrible. He is real here today. He is real for Harry Potter. Draco now wonders if Harry Potter is real, instead.

 

III. Linen

They fall back against the crisp cotton to the sound of war.

Moments, that's all there is now. Before, before the war started, there had been much more time to be alone. Draco wasn't really even sure how it had started. He had become tired of his father's demands and wanted nothing to do with it. He was above it, he felt. He had gone to Potter, hoping for refuge and forgiveness. Somehow, he had ended up in his bed. That was a year ago now.

Loud bangs and booms are all around them as they breathe heavily, trying to catch their breath. Potter lie with his arms behind his head, smiling happily. Draco watches him out of the corner of his eye, wondering 'why me?'. He runs his fingers through his hair and goes to get up. Potter pulls him back, "Not yet. Not ready for reality yet. Stay."

He lies back down, curling against Potter, wondering if today is the day he dies.

 

IV. Buttercream

Draco will never forget his first birthday with Potter. There was a cake. A cake with buttercream frosting and it all seemed so normal. Presents were handed around the table from the family he never dreamed he'd have. People trusted him, and he knew he couldn't break that trust now, or he'd have to go back to his father and Tom and all that that meant. The worst part was he didn't want to break it.

Potter had been so happy. He was very keen on Draco opening his present last. Draco slowly pulled the paper back and saw a rounded glass contraption filled with swirly sand. "What is it," he asked. Potter responded, "An hourglass that never runs out. That's how long we'll be together."

Silence. Everyone waited for his reaction. All eyes were on him. He gulped.

"Only you, Potter. You're so sentimental." He rolled his eyes, but stood up and hugged Harry, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. But, inside, he was full of love and surprise at the fact that someone cared that much.

Harry smiled, expecting no less.

 

V. Mirror Tops and Blood Drops

Draco looks down at his reflection on the mirrored table. He sees weakness. He doesn't see the greatness that old families are supposed to just automatically have. He sees a coward who doesn't want to fight, other than to protect what he loves. He isn't sure he can do that. He isn't sure he can do anything other than love Potter and hope he loves him back. He knows he isn't as strong as his father or Tom or anyone else on their side. Potter tells him he is, and that he is strong through Harry. Draco isn't so positive about that.

He smooths down his robes, runs a hand through his hair, and goes into the hall. When he gets downstairs everyone is waiting for him. Some of them are dead already.

"It's time," Remus says. And it is.

They stand on separate sides of an imaginary line, his father asking him to step over it, to save his own life. All he can think of is sheets and cakes and china. He doesn't even bother to respond, and instead turns his back on his father and Tom. He hears Tom laugh and say to Lucius, "Well, at least one of you has something to live for. He doesn't know what that's worth, though."

The battle begins. He quickly loses sight of Potter, but he isn't worried. He knows he's all right on his own. Draco hangs to the back like a true coward, watching people who have been kind to him fall down, blood pouring from their mouths and ears. He shoots several poorly aimed shots at the enemy.

There's Potter! He's flat up against Tom, who isn't Tom anymore. They tossle back and forth, almost dancing, and Draco freezes, watching and hitching his breath. Lucius stands aside, as well, watching what everyone has waited years to see. Potter falls down on the ground, and Tom stands over him, looking triumphant. Potter utters the worst words in the world with venom and Tom falls, looking shocked. A wave of relief and pride washes over Draco. He runs towards them, tackling Potter and nearly crying. It’s over. Now they can get back to normal, whatever that may be.

His father stands by looking crestfallen. He turns on Potter, wand up and ready, and Draco, without even thinking says, “Avada Kedavra” much like one would say “Pass the salt”.

Lucius falls. Potter looks gobsmacked.

 

vii. Curling

When they had finished and it was finally almost quiet, Potter turned to him and said, “I’m sorry your birthday was such rubbish this year. I swear I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. What do you want?”

“Huckleberry Finn,” Draco says. “I want to remember while I forget.”


End file.
